Infractus quod Proditor
by boldly
Summary: I gave my soul to you - you cut me from behind.


Spend a day or so with a restless, angsty Seifer muse, and this is what you get. I need to stop writing drabbles. I really do. Or at least, the angsty, emotionally taxing ones. Because .. -shrugs- Just because.

Loosely inspired by 12 Stones' Lie To Me. Title is my sorry excuse for trying to appear intelligent - loosely translated, "broken and betrayed" in Latin. Yeah, I'm cool.

Standard disclaimers. I lay claim to nothing. And as always, 'tis for my love.

* * *

_So lie to me once again, and tell me everything will be all right_.

He sits in his room, back against the far wall, body all but molded into the corner with his arms wound 'round his knees. His chin rests atop them, and he stares blankly at the wall directly in front of him, trying to make patterns out of the cracks in the paint.

No one knows. No one figures him for the type to feel remorse - and so no one believes that he _can_ be sorry. He doesn't try to apologize. He knows they won't listen.

He remembers everything with the kind of clarity that weighs heavy in the back of his mind, vivid images in the brightest spectrum of color all but burning themselves into the backs of his eyes until he sees them even when he allows himself a brief respite and lets them slide closed. Outlines of faces, shadows in the dimmest light, whispered promises resting on the edge of a forked tongue.

He bites his lip against the anger that blurs his vision, tinting the edges a crisp, dangerous shade of red, and he _sighs_. It's been said that he cannot be blamed, and that he isn't _allowed_ to blame himself - but given his nature, his frame of mind, he can't be expected to place blame on anyone _but_ himself, even if it _was_ justified.

It's his fault the world nearly fell to pieces.

It's his fault he wasn't strong enough to say _no_.

His stomach twists, and he struggles to maintain focus, concentrating _hard_ on the way his heart hammers in his chest. It always starts like this - the faces of the ones he betrayed, left behind on the wind of a promise of being _stronger_, of being someone that _mattered_. He tastes the bitter stain of his own shortcomings, and for a brief moment, the span of a heartbeat - he can almost forgive himself for relinquishing control, for giving himself over.

For becoming a Sorceress' lapdog.

For a while, it had been the way she looked at him, a small little smile curving that deceptively sweet mouth, lies spilling in a sugar-coated wave over an already fragile foundation. He had allowed himself to drown in them, the words that offered false hope, a sense of strength. A _purpose_.

She could have given him a length of rope, and he would have willingly looped it 'round his neck, waited obediently for the order to tie the knot and _let go_.

All of that, all of the blind faith and implicit trust, and she would have dropped him the moment he ceased to be useful.

He shifts minutely, rests his head against the wall at his back, sighs again.

_You left me broken and betrayed_.

Time passes slowly, shadows crawling across the carpet as the sun follows its track across a muted backdrop, and he barely moves. He breathes slowly, in and out. It's all he can do to keep from tearing this place apart.

A knock sounds on the other side of the door, soft and almost timid, followed by an even softer voice, gentle for all its usual authoritative snap.

"Seifer?"

It's been hours. He almost smiles. _You worry too much_.

Carefully, he unfolds himself and stands, pulling that ever-present mask of careful indifference over his features, forcing the tightness in his chest down. _Down_.

The door slides open and he pulls the brunet inside, doesn't offer any answers for the questions he knows are lurking just beneath the surface. Right now, he needs his warmth, the light press of his hands to the side of his neck when he dips low to kiss him.

He makes it easier. Makes it easier to breathe.

He doesn't question - just holds him until the tremors cease, and waits for the time to come when he finally realizes he doesn't have to do this alone. He doesn't let on that he's always been able to see right through that carefully fabricated smokescreen. Not now, at least.

_Tell me everything will be all right_.


End file.
